Fic: If Tomorrow Never Comes
Title: If Tomorrow Never Comes
Pairing: Kathryn Janeway/ B'Elanna Torres
Fandom: Star Trek Voyager
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Alone on a shuttlecraft
Requested by: ubiquitousmixie
Summary: After Voyager's return to Earth B'Elanna has to find captain Janeway
Disclaimer: Sadly not mine.
A/N: Yes, I used the prompt twice. I wrote both of these stories with this prompt in mind and then I couldn't pick one so I'm posting them both.
B’Elanna snarls at the drunk man, making him back away from her as if he burnt his hand. She hates this planet. This colony turned criminal decades ago. All the lowlife that has managed to escape capture or Federation prisons crawls around here, intoxicating themselves with alcohol and whatever drugs they can get their hands on.
She finds it difficult to believe that the captain would be here and yet she knows that she is. It’s not exactly a safe place for anyone with Starfleet affiliations, let alone a highly decorated captain whose face has been on the news feeds countless times. She shudders at the thought of what might happen behind closed doors.
A few meters ahead a door slides open and a body is thrown out. He tries to get up but two other figures appear, dragging him off into a dark passageway. The sickening sound of someone being punched half to death reaches B’Elanna’s ears. As much as she would want to help man, she can’t. She has to find her captain first.
Going through the same door the other figures exited through, she is met with the distinct smell of alcohol, sweat and different kinds of smoke. She squints and tries to see if she can make out a familiar face, but there is no one here that she recognizes. She wants to hit someone. Wrong, she cannot believe she was wrong. Using her elbows she fights her way to the bar. She needs a drink.
A door in the back opens and the shouting stops, the loud music is turned down. B’Elanna turns her head and has to steady herself against the bar. Even in the weak light she can see it’s the captain, being embraced by a tall, rather burly looking man with one side of his face scarred beyond recognition.
Janeway makes her way to the bar without trouble, everybody stepping out of her way. Much to B’Elanna’s surprise the captain is wearing her old uniform. Black pants, grey turtleneck, four pips on her collar, her jacket slung carelessly over her shoulder and a phaser strapped to her hip. When she reaches the bar the background noise increases. The man retreats into the backroom.
“Captain,” B’Elanna says softly. If Janeway is surprised to see her former chief engineer, she doesn’t show it. She doesn’t show any form of emotions.
“B’Elanna.” Cold, harsh, not like she is used to from the captain’s lips. Janeway nods towards the bartender who pulls out a bottle of bourbon, a glass, a small white packet and a device that could fit into the palm of her hand. “Another glass.” The bartender mumbles something, but Janeway simply raises an eyebrow and with a low growl the man places another glass in front of the captain.
“Care to join me?” B’Elanna nods wordlessly and following the captain through the crowd, watches in amazement when the group at a table gets up to make room for the two of them. Janeway throws her jacket over the back of a chair before sitting down. She watches as the captain opens the packet and pulls out a thin cylinder with an orange tip. “Do you want one?”
“What is it?” B’Elanna asks, eyeing the packet suspiciously.
“A cigarette. Does disastrous things to your health and is even more addictive than coffee, if you allow it. I don’t recommend it.” The captain voice is still distant, aloof, like she shut off all access to her emotions.
“No, thanks,” she replies.
“Can’t say I blame you,” the captain says and places the cigarette between her lips. She picks up the device and flicks a small switch, a flame appearing at the top. B’Elanna remembers the stories about smoking, the deadly qualities tobacco possesses, but nowhere was it mentioned that it could look sexy. But as she watches Janeway inhale and slowly exhale, smoke escaping from her mouth, she can think of no other word.
“If it’s so bad, then why do it?”
“I like it and the coffee here is terrible. The bourbon on the other hand.” The captain opens the bottle and pours them both a glass. B’Elanna sniffs it before tasting. Even though she never cared for bourbon, she has to admit this is quite good. This particular brand still makes it the old-fashioned way. She can practically taste the oak barrel the liquid stayed in for more than a decade.
“It’s good,” she says. The captain nods and raises her glass before taking a sip. B’Elanna follows the movement with her eyes, watching Janeway’s pale throat as she swallows the liquid, the pink tip of her tongue peeking out to collect the remainders of the drink off her lips.
“So how did you find me?”
“Call it a gut feeling. You weren’t on Earth or near any major Starfleet base. I remembered this place from my Maquis days.”
“I would have thought that Owen would sent Tom after me. No offence to your husband’s life before Voyager,” Janeway says, taking another drag from her cigarette.
“Oh, he wanted to, they both wanted it to be Tom, but he’s more familiar with Earth. I know the less respectable places located in deep space. I managed to persuade them with a little Klingon subtleness.” That almost makes a smile appear on the captain’s face. At least it brings a little light back in her eyes. A little of the spark that she used to have on Voyager’s bridge.
“I’m sure you did. They must have loved that.”
“Not really. They will like it even less when they find out I did find you.”
“I guess that means you are going to force me to come back with you,” the captain says softly, almost as if she is daring B’Elanna to do it. The challenge is in her eyes as she sips the last of her bourbon and refills hers and B’Elanna’s glass.
“That depends,” B’Elanna replies and realizes that she means it. Her intention had never been to simply bring captain Janeway back, but she hadn’t wanted to pry into her business either.
“On what?”
“You and the reason you’re running away from Starfleet, hiding in some shithole where you know no one would suspect you would go.” The captain raises her eyebrows at the harsh tone in the Klingon’s voice.
“That’s none of your business nor is it Starfleet’s.”
“Then I will force you.” The instant the words leave her mouth she regrets them. She knows how the captain responds to threats.
“Good luck,” Janeway says coolly and stabs out her cigarette bud on the hard wood of the table before lighting another. The movements are so routine, like she has done this a thousand times. It comes as natural to her as drinking coffee.
“I don’t get you. You spent years literally billions of kilometers away from Starfleet, the Federation and their rules and yet you clung to their precious protocol, willing to sacrifice your ship, crew and yourself for those high standards and when you finally do get us back, you run away from it all, wearing your old uniform, not responding to Starfleet’s messages and requests. So what is your problem?”
“They want to make me an admiral.”
“Now you’ve lost me. This is a bad thing?” B’Elanna asks. The captain sighs, refilling her empty glass again, not bothering with B’Elanna’s since she has barely touched the liquid.
“A desk job, bossing the captains around, lecturing, but mostly be Starfleet’s new poster girl, the Voyager captain that brought her crew successfully home. Well, I didn’t.” There’s a bitterness in the captain’s voice that doesn’t belong there. It reminds B’Elanna of the Admiral’s voice.
“Of course you did. We’re all back on Earth, Vulcan or wherever it was we came from.”
“Yes, we’re back.” The captain says quietly and sighs. “But are we home? I know I’m not. Earth, Starfleet, Indiana, it’s stranger to me than flying between stars and planets I’ve never seen. I’m restless. I feel lost.”
“That will change. Accept the position. And give it some time, knowing you, you’ll adjust. I have.”
“Have you? Really? I have known you for seven years, B’Elanna. Something, other than seeing me like this, is bothering you.”
“I’m not here to talk about me,” B’Elanna snaps. She hates the way the captain’s eyes are slicing right through her. The last time Janeway looked at her like that was more than three years ago when she was hurting herself on the holodeck. Just like then the captain had known that something was wrong.
“Maybe we should.”
“You’re not turning this around on me. I want to know why you’re here, why these people treat you like you’re royalty and what the hell happened to the captain Janeway I once knew.”
“Afraid that you’ll discover something you won’t like?” the captain says teasingly, in a way that reminds her of the Borg Queen. “Fine, I’ll talk and so will you, but not here. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“My shuttle.” Janeway gets up, picking up the half empty bottle and the pack of cigarettes. Every movement she makes, no matter how simple or careless it seems, is so controlled. It’s almost painful to watch. B’Elanna wants to shake her, something, anything to break this wall the captain is hiding behind.
“Your shuttle?” B’Elanna asks in disbelief.
“More or less.” Her jacket thrown over her arm, the red band of command clearly visible in the surrounding darkness, the captain starts to make her way towards the door, gesturing for B’Elanna to follow her. As she slips through the dense crowd, a hand descends on her shoulder, pulling her away from the captain.
“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” A deep voice whispers in her ear.
“I doubt it,” she hisses. “Now let me go.” There’s a low growl in her ear and the grip on her shoulder tightens. She wants shrug herself free, look the man in the eye, but the captain appears in front of them, her eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Let her go,” Janeway says calmly, staring the six foot alien down. B’Elanna glances over her shoulder and sees a Klingon, ready to attack the captain, his hand resting on the handle of his D’k tahg.
“Why? Do you have some claim over her, human?” his breath washes over her, stinking of blood wine. Briefly she wonders if the captain has lost her sanity, clashing with an armed, intoxicated Klingon.
“She is with me, so let her go.” With great reluctance the man releases her shoulder and shoves her away. Before she could stop it, she collides with Janeway. For a few seconds the captain’s hand rests against her chest, a warmth spreading through the thin shirt she’s wearing. Then she quickly backs away, trying to figure out the unreadable expression in Janeway’s eyes.
“Let’s go,” the captain says and brushes by her, walking through the door.
“Whatever you say,” B’Elanna whispers softly as she catches up with Janeway. Quietly they move through the battered buildings, a decade of wars between gangs having taking its toll. According to Starfleet it’s been relatively calm the past year, but B’Elanna doesn’t still feel safe walking around at night. She wonders how the captain can appear so at home.
The shuttle is docked at the edge of the city. Its gleaming hull stands out between the other worn out ships. Smaller than a runabout, but larger than the Delta flyer, Janeway shuttle looks just as much out of place, as the captain did in that bar. The captain types in her security code and opens the shuttle door.
“Computer, lights,” Janeway orders. Once the aft section is illuminated she watches the captain put her things in a small compartment. The décor is the same as most shuttles, save for a holo image of the senior staff taken about two years ago and a miniature Voyager in a bottle.
“Please, sit,” the captain says as she elegantly sinks down on a bench and lights another cigarette. B’Elanna observes her for a moment and wonders if Janeway is going to play a game or tell the truth before she sits down across from the auburn haired woman.
“It’s worse than your coffee habit,” B’Elanna says, gesturing towards the cigarette held loosely between the captain’s fingers.
“I only smoke while I’m here, so I tend to overindulge a little. I’ll put it out if it bothers you.” B’Elanna shakes her head. The captain tilts her head and smiles for a brief moment but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Now, what is it you wanted to know?”
“Why did you run?”
“I didn’t run.” Now it’s B’Elanna’s turn to smile. “Technically speaking, I didn’t. I’m still on leave so I can go wherever I want to go,” the captain says sharply and sighs. She turns her head and lets her fingers wander over the bottle that contains Voyager. “It feels like that time we had to cross the void. A black nothingness. But here it never ends. I had to get away.”
The captain looks back at her and in her eyes B’Elanna can see the things Janeway doesn’t want to say. For seven years the captain had to fight hostile alien species and take care of her crew with barely a moment for herself. Yet now, back in the Alpha Quadrant with no distractions, her own demons have come to haunt her. The guilt has resurfaced.
“Have you tried counseling?” B’Elanna offers carefully.
“Yes. I only get told that it will take time for me to adjust and that I need to stop worrying about what I did or didn’t do, because none of it matters anymore. We’re back, the charges against the former Maquis are dropped. Seven and Icheb have been accepted by society. Everything is as it should be,” the captain says, sarcasm lacing her voice.
“So why are you running from everything?”
“Because I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to be the hero they make me out to be. I need to be on Voyager between the stars. But they won’t allow me to take command again. Not of Voyager or any other ship. They’re taking her apart, did you know that?”
“Yeah. Owen told us a few days ago,” B’Elanna replies and tries not to think about the defeated look that had passed over Tom’s face and the uncontrollable rage that had taken hold of her. They were going to tear apart her engines, her home.
“How have settled in on Earth with the Parises?”
“It’s fine,” she says quietly, searching for more words to describe her life as it is, but fails. The captain raises her eyebrows.
“That’s it? Fine?”
“It isn’t Voyager. It’s too quiet, even with Miral. I miss the excitement, the crew.” She pauses for a second, not sure if she wants to says something out loud she has barely admitted to herself. “It isn’t home.”
Janeway gets up and sits down next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. B’Elanna stiffens for a brief moment before relaxing. “I know,” the captain whispers, emotion breaking through her voice. B’Elanna reaches up and covers Janeway’s hand.
She looks over her shoulder, finding the captain’s eyes. Tears are shimmering, but not falling, the captain doesn’t allow them. B’Elanna feels her own tears rolling down her cheeks. For the seven years they were lost, she could never have thought it would end like this.
Slowly she leans closer until she can feel Janeway’s breath on her face, the smell of the bourbon and cigarettes entering her nose. Closing the remaining distance between them, she brushes her lips over the captain’s. All of her fear that this is a mistake disappears when the captain kisses her back and cups her cheek, pulling her closer.
B’Elanna groans when she feels the captain’s tongue enter her mouth. She tastes like alcohol and smoke, like coffee, like the salty tears that roll down her cheeks, like Kathryn Janeway. She has wanted this since they were on that shuttle, years ago when the captain trusted for the first time and made her chief engineer.
Tangling her fingers in Janeway’s hair, she forces her upcoming tears away. This is happening about four years too late. She wishes she had had the courage to approach the captain before she started with Tom. That she had kissed her that day in the shuttle when she had the chance. But now, they can never happen.
“No, not yet,” she whispers against the captain’s lips when she feels the woman pulling away from her, trying to end the kiss, end this moment where everything is right. The captain smiles and leans closer again, taking one last kiss.
For a moment when she feels the captain’s hands on her waist, holding her close, she has the idea to leave Tom, take Miral with her. She could give Janeway and herself a chance. But she knows the captain wouldn’t want that. She would never get over the guilt of pulling apart a marriage. Even if it wasn’t her fault.
She traces the captain’s jaw line. The small wrinkles near her eyes, the smooth skin of her cheekbones. This face, that she spent hours observing, even if she didn’t notice she was doing it, she will never forget it. She knows it better than Voyager’s engines, better than her husband’s face.
This moment will end, it has to. With an enormous effort she pulls back, lingering on the captain’s bottom lip. When she opens her eyes, she sees the captain looking back at her. For the first time that evening, Janeway doesn’t look as if she’s carrying the weight of the universe on her shoulder. She looks relieved.
“Let’s get out of this, what did you call it again, shithole?” Janeway says and walks towards the front of the shuttle.
“Aye, captain,” B’Elanna replies, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Considering the past hour, it’s best of you call me Kathryn,” the captain says and sits down in the pilot chair, her fingers dancing over the console as the shuttle begins hum when the engines come online. B’Elanna sinks down next to her, taking over Ops.
“You didn’t tell me why you came to this place,” B’Elanna asks when they’re flying away from the planet at full impulse. At this distance, the planet is beautiful. It’s unimaginable how crime is slowly destroying it, until nothing will be left.
“I found comfort here once, when I didn’t expect it,” Kathryn replies after a long pause. “The barkeeper told me I’d always be welcome there when I needed to escape and didn’t want to be found. I guess it didn’t work out the way I planned it to.” The captain glances at her, a playful look in her eyes as takes the shuttle to warp 5.
“Where are we going?”
“Earth.” B’Elanna half expected, hoped that Kathryn to take them to some remote planet away from everything and everybody. She can’t help but feel a little disappointed that they’re going back.
“What happens then?” B’Elanna asks, knowing the answer. She’ll go back to Tom and Miral and have the family life she never had as a child. Kathryn will be an admiral, giving the rest of her life to Starfleet. The captain reaches out and takes hold of her hand, squeezing it softly.
“I don’t know.”